BiographyType: Writter Born: November 18, 1981,Harrisonburg, Virginia, Died: Maggie Stiefvater is a writer, artist, and musician and the New York Times bestselling author of "Shiver", hailed by Publishers Weekly in a starred review as “a lyrical tale,” and by BookPage as “beautifully written, even poetic at times, and a perfect indulgence for readers of all ages. ”There are more than 1.8 million copies of the trilogy in print. |
It is possible to be in love with you just because of who you are.
You're like a song that I heard when I was a little kid but forgot I knew until I heard it again.
I wanted a library like this...[] A cave of words that I'd made myself.
Ronan Lynch lived with every sort of secret.
His eyes were frighteningly alive, the curve of his mouth savage and pleased. It suddenly didn't seem at all surprising that he should be able to pull things from his dreams.
In that moment, Blue was a little in love with all of them. Their magic. Their quest. Their awfulness and strangeness. Her raven boys.
Somehow, having a deer preside over the ceremony of a werewolf and a girl seems oddly appropriate.
I was thinking lots of things, but most of them needed to stay thoughts, not words.
The world needs more love at first sight.
I wish you could be kissed, Jane,' he said. 'Because I would beg just one off you. Under all this.' He flailed an arm toward the stars.
If I were a tree, I would have no reason to love a human.
Right now, it's hard to imagine that it is raining anywhere in the world.
What are you wishing for?' Grace interrupted. 'To kiss you,' I said to her.
I just looked at her, feeling utterly empty. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say to her. My life is in that bed. Please let me stay.
Grace: I picked up my sweater from the floor and crawled back into bed. Shoving my pillow aside, I balled up the sweater to use instead.
I fell asleep to the scent of my wolf. Pine needles, cold rain, earthy perfume, coarse bristles on my face.
It was almost like he was there.